


Boy's Night

by trevorphilipsbodypillow



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevorphilipsbodypillow/pseuds/trevorphilipsbodypillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor finally manages to persuade Floyd to "hang out with the boys."</p><p>It was going to be a long night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy's Night

**Author's Note:**

> taking a little break on The Time's Passed to collect my thoughts and also catch up with life. but here's a little present while you guys wait <3

When Floyd arrived home from work, the first thing to assault his eyes was the sight of a strange, angry, balding man sitting on his couch. Said strange man was currently being straddled by Floyd’s very own burnout cousin, who also happened to have his tongue shoved halfway down his throat.

It was going to be a long night.

Trevor and Wade had been in his house for… good God, Floyd didn’t even want to count the days. But it had been long enough that he was already too numb to be shocked by the situation in front of him. He just sighed before stiffly walking over to the kitchen, throwing his keys on the counter.

Trevor took notice in the noise, cracking an eye open before pulling away from Wade and looking over at Floyd.

“Heyyyyyyyyy, Floyd’s home!” He called, a little too joyously for Floyd’s comfort. “‘Eyyyyy, buddy… how’s life as ‘n average joe?” He was drunk. Amongst many other forms of inebriation, most likely, but he was almost laughingly boozed up. Floyd wasn’t really in a laughing mood, however.

He muttered something unintelligible in reply, emptying his pockets for the day and removing his work vest.

“Whazzup, man?” Trevor continued, unfazed by Floyd’s lukewarm response. He looked back up at Wade as if he had forgotten he was there. Wade had similarly seemed to lost track of what he had been doing, and had taken to just staring vacantly ahead of him with bloodshot eyes. Trevor looked back at Floyd drowsily. “Y’wanna join us?”

Floyd grimaced. “I… I’d really rather not.”

“Awwwww, c’mon! Wade can share! He don’t mind!”

Floyd gave his cousin a weary stare. “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

Wade looked too high to even begin to comprehend the disparaging glower, and the blank look on his face remained unchanging as Trevor lightly pushed him off his lap onto the other side of the couch.

“Don’ be a fuckin’ spoilsport, Floyd,” Trevor hiccupped. “C’mon, crack open a drink an’ le’s do some good ol’ male bonding.”

Floyd eyes then fell to the half empty case of beer resting atop his – no, Debra’s – kitchen counter. The entire kitchen was absolutely filthy, empty and broken bottles of a variety of liquors scattered across the floor and tabletops. There were cigarette butts and meth pipes covering the stove. The delicately monogrammed dish towels were hanging off the cupboards stained with something that Floyd could only hope wasn’t blood or excrement. The sink was filled with something rotting and unrecognizable. He looked back at Trevor. The older man was patting the empty seat on the couch – the couch that was significantly less caked in filth – expectantly, eyes glazed over in a drunken haze. Wade was now passed out on the other side of the couch, curled up into a ball and scraping his dirty shoes all over the fabric.

Floyd thought about the picture that was in the hall, the picture of Debra. The picture of his beautiful, loving girlfriend that he didn’t deserve, the picture that lay cracked and abandoned on the floor of her once-flawless condo.

Floyd looked back at the case of beer.

Eff it.

He grabbed a bottle and twisted off the cap, turning back towards Trevor, who had a triumphant sneer plastered on his face.

Eff it. No, actually…

Fuck it.

-_-_-_-_-_-

Floyd was a lightweight. He was only three beers in before the colors around him began to blur together, and his mind began to wander through his inebriated haze. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had drank alcohol. Certainly not since he had been with Debra.

Trevor laughed. Floyd looked over at him, eyes squinted. Had he said that out loud? “J’sus, Floyd, you’re such a fuckin’ pansy. Yer tellin’ me you’ve never gotten shitfaced b’fore?” Trevor continued chuckling, taking a drink from his beer. He was slumped back in the couch, dangerously close to sliding off completely.

Floyd scrunched his face up in concentration, trying to remember. “Once, I guess.” He said eventually, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. “’S way back. When I was at a… family reunion. I was eighteen. W…Wade an’ a few ‘a our other cousins slipped booze in my lemonade.” Floyd waited for Trevor’s cackles to subside before continuing, distantly adding, “My mother damn near had a heart attack.”

Trevor snorted, trying to get his laughter under control. “Shiiit, Wade did that? Guess I underestimate th’ lil’ shithead.”

Floyd looked over at his cousin then, who was still fast asleep on the opposite end of the couch. “Wade was…” He looked away, staring straight into space and pulling up his legs and hugging them to his chest. “Wade was real different when we were kids. Well… guess not completely different. He still liked, uh, that clown stuff. An’ amphetamines.” Floyd worried his lower lip. “He like those too much.”

Had Floyd been more sober, he might have noticed Trevor grow uncharacteristically quiet. But Floyd was getting caught up in his own thoughts now, and was paying no attention to the man beside him. “A-after he overdosed – we were both 19… 19 when it happened – and when he was up in the hospital, my parents went on and on ‘bout it. They kept sayin’, ‘See, Wade wound up having a stroke, Floyd. Imagine how his mother must feel, Floyd. This is exactly why we told you not to associate with his type, Floyd. Don’t end up like your cousin, Floyd.’” Floyd paused, staring distantly ahead of him, trying to grasp at the threads of his memory. “Y’know, now that I think about it, I ain’t ever heard them talk so much about Wade before or after that. But I listened to ‘em. My parents, I mean. I didn’t end up like that. I was a good kid. I was goin’ t’ college, I never did nothin’ outta turn, an’ now look at me! I, I’m livin’ in Los Santos, an’ I’ve gotta nice place, an’ a nice job, an’ a nice girlfriend, an’… and-” Floyd’s words left him as a familiar feeling crept inside of him, and suddenly the alcohol numbing his thoughts wasn’t enough to mask the pangs of doubt that shot through his body.

Floyd couldn’t even control himself when he quietly blurted out, “D’ya think Debra’s cheatin’ on me?”

Trevor, still oddly quiet, seemed to break out of his spell at this. “Absolutely.” He replied unceremoniously.

Floyd hadn’t been expecting a better answer. Especially not from Trevor. But the alcohol was weakening him, breaking open a wall he had been desperately trying to keep up. It made him easier to wound. It made the words sting more. He couldn’t stop it as the tears came pouring out.

He cried quietly for a moment before Trevor eventually turned to look at him, and then gave him an incredulous stare as he tried to process what was happening. “Whaddaya, fuckin’ cryin’?”

Floyd tucked his chin into his chest and hid his face between his knees. Trevor continued staring.

“I-” The moment Floyd tried speaking, a sob escaped his throat, and he had to try to catch his breath. “I guess I knew that. I guess I knew that Debra was cheatin’. I, I always knew. A-and, who could blame her? I, I try to be a good man to her, do right by her. B-but… I’m just a… I’m just a coward. I’m a G-damn coward.” Floyd sniffed and took a moment to wipe his nose before continuing. “I’m just a G-damn… Augh, I’m just a goddamn, sniveling coward! Debra’s out there supporting us, and all I’m doing is sittin’ here, cryin’ like a child, lettin’ my goddamn cousin and his crazy drug dealer run her condo straight to hell.” Had he been less drunk, he would have grown wary of the quiet growl Trevor was letting out, but presently, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Debra may be cheatin’… but I still don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve anyone.”

There was a long ring of silence after he had finished, and Floyd wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked up to see Trevor passed out on the couch along with Wade. It’s not like Trevor cared about any of his problems. Being that he was the root of most of them. But the quiet was suddenly broken by a loud, frustrated growl.

“Arrrrrrrrgh, god fucking dammit!” Trevor spat, and Floyd could hear him throw his bottle of beer onto the floor. “’The fuck is this shit? Tryin’ t’have a good fuckin’ time and all this fuckin’ shit….. ‘Waaaahhh, my cousin had a stroke, my girlfriend’s a slut, waaaaaahhhh.’ Jesus, remind me never to fuckin’ let you have a drink again. You’re… such a fuckin’ bummer. Killin’ my buzz.”

“Sorry,” Floyd said weakly, sniffing.

Trevor only sighed. Floyd still had his face hidden, reserved to wiping his face on his pants, until Trevor finally spoke up again.

“Look… Debra’s a bitch. Everyone thinks so. I think so, an’ I haven’t even fuckin’ met the chick. Your fuckin’ cousin thinks so, and most days the kid can’t remember how to tie his fuckin’ shoes. So basically… yeah. Bitch. You’ve just got low self-esteem, man. Y’gotta… I don’t fuckin’ know. Stop… bein’… a fuckin’ dick.” Trevor snarled to himself suddenly, frustrated at why this was suddenly so hard to say. “You’re not… a bad fuckin’ dude, Floyd. I mean, you’re kind of a nerd, but you’re the nicest fuckin’ guy I’ve met in Los Santos.”

Floyd sniffed, finally looking up at Trevor somewhat surprised. The older man’s eyes were still glazed over drunkenly, but he was looking straight at Floyd and something about his face just looked so… genuine.

Floyd wasn't sure what to think about this information, and he didn’t know what to say, but as he tried to find his voice he just mumbled the first thing he could think of. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Trevor replied. Then he hiccupped. “You’re a good guy, Floyd. Plus, on the positive side, if you’re anything like your cousin, you’re probably like a fuckin’ feral animal in the sack.”

“What?”

“Nothin’. I’m jus’ sayin’, Debra’s the one missin’ out. If she wants t’go out an’ be Slutty Slut McSlutterson, that’s her fuckin’ fault.”

Floyd didn’t know whether to feel validated or offended when Trevor went on about Debra, so he just tucked his face away again. “Thanks.” This "thanks" was more empty than the last.

The room grew quiet again. Trevor looked away from Floyd then as if he had suddenly forgotten why he was talking to him, scanning the room mindlessly until his eyes fell on Wade. Then he turned back to Floyd.

“’Ey. Floyd. Floyyyyd.”

“What?” Floyd answered, voice muffled by his pants.

“Y’wanna have a threesome?”

Floyd sighed. “No.”

Trevor scrunched his face up in annoyance. “Then go th’ fuck t’bed. You’re… a fuckin’ bummer, man. Get some sleep. Sleep it off. Sleep.”

Floyd rolled his eyes to himself, but then decided that it probably wasn’t a bad idea. He stood up slowly, stumbling slightly as he fully realized how intoxicated he was.

As he trudged to the bedroom, Trevor called after him. “Floyyyyyyd.”

Floyd stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

Trevor was splayed across the couch, taking up the space Floyd had just been occupying, looking dangerously close to passing out along with Wade under half-lidded eyes. “Love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.”

Floyd just looked at him tiredly before Trevor’s features set themselves into a frown.

“Say it back or I’ll rip yer fuckin’ face off.”

Floyd blinked rapidly, and sighed before turning back to the bedroom.

“Love you too.”


End file.
